


7AM is too early for consciousness

by Moonlit_Lampshade



Series: Common sense is for the weak (and those without coffee) [1]
Category: The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, SteveTonyFest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-14
Updated: 2014-12-14
Packaged: 2018-03-01 13:02:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2774003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonlit_Lampshade/pseuds/Moonlit_Lampshade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for notgroot for STAC.<br/>College AU based on that one text post going around tumblr about the kid who dumped a Monster into a coffee:</p><p>"the kid next to me literally poured a monster energy drink into his coffee said 'i'm going to die' and drank the whole thing"</p><p>Steve was minding his own business in his English discussion session when the guy next to him conspired to distract him with worry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	7AM is too early for consciousness

**Author's Note:**

> Present for [notgroot](http://notgroot.tumblr.com/) for STAC 2014. The formatting is sort of weird and inconsistent and kind of non-linear, a bit. Hope it still makes sense.

Steve’s first class of the day is a discussion section for Intro to Literary Study at 7am. Unideal, since that means he has to cut short his morning run. On the plus side, though, he’s used to getting up early, so he’s not a complete zombie in class. Although the glares from those alert enough to observe and process his awakefulness seem to insist otherwise.

He slouches down in his seat and tries to mimic the sleep-deprived squints around him. One guy narrows his eyes further - although he also might just as well have lost the battle to keep his eyelids open.

He glances anxiously at his watch. 7:01, and no sign of the TA. That’s fine; 7am is an ungodly early hour. Maybe they’re running late. No biggie.

He scans the room idly and does a double-take at the kid next to him. Steve watches in horror as the kid pours his can of Monster into his coffee cup, shaking the can gently to get the last drops. He glances up, and, seeing Steve watching him, tells Steve, “I’m going to die,” before chugging the entire mess.

“What–” Steve begins to ask.

Of course, that’s when the TA makes his untimely appearance. “Sorry I’m late,” he says, fumbling with his bag. “Thank you all for being here so early,” he adds with a strained smile as he starts pulling out stacks of paper.

Steve glances back at coffee guy, who’d pulled out his phone and was resolutely ignoring the TA. _But what do you mean, you’re going to die?_

_Class time, Steve_ , he tells himself sternly. He looks down at his notebook (yep, still empty), looks up at the board (nothing there yet either), and stops himself from glancing over at coffee guy ( _But what do you mean, you’re going to die?_ ).

Which works for all of two seconds.

He catches himself glancing over at him as the TA hands out syllabi (coffee guy sets it on his desk and promptly ignores it in favor of his phone), then again as the TA settles down in the seat in front ( _That’s a really tripped out phone. I’ve never seen anything like it. Customized?_ ).

_English_ , he tells himself. _Focus. ...okay, but how much caffeine was even in all of that? Is he trying to kill himself? Death by caffeine? Is that even possible? Is he going to be okay? I don’t think humans were meant to ingest that much caffeine all at once. Plus, what about the sugar content? Is he going to have a heart attack? Are we going to have to call 911? Oh, shit, I think I still remember how to do CPR. Good thing I took that certification class this summer. Not that I’m hoping he’ll need CPR. That’s ridiculous. It’s just good I know it, just in case. I mean, that was an ungodly amount of caffeine and sugar._

_He’s cute_ , Steve thinks, then mentally freezes. _What the hell, Rogers? Stop perving on the mentally unstable guy. I mean, that decision clearly shows disorder-level impaired judgment. Okay, no, that’s ableist of you, stop it. But god, he’s cute, all rumpled and slouchy and barely-suppressed indignation. Like a puppy. No, he's not a puppy. Stop that; you're only encouraging yourself to imagine hugging him._

Loud shuffles and paper crinkling. What? Oh, they finished going over the first page. Steve quickly flips the page and folds it neatly down at the staple, then angles his head back to watch coffee guy ( _Let’s be honest. There’s no way he’s going to be paying attention in class. Besides, all of the information is on the syllabus, and he can ask someone later._ )

He watches as the guy gets progressively more jittery ( _Hah, see? Called it. See? Too much caffeine can cause physical shaking. Oh, shit. He’s physically shaking. Shit, shit, shit. That’s not a good sign. That’s not a good sign at all._ ) and finally gives up on his phone because he’s shaking too much and lays his head down on the desk ( _Oh, god. Do I need to tell someone? Should I stop the TA. I mean, there might be a medical emergency developing. This is serious, isn’t it?_ ).

“Since we haven’t actually covered anything in lecture yet, I’m going to let you guys out early,’ he hears the TA say. There’s a pause, then shuffling as the rest of the class packs up and slouches out. The TA starts heading out, then, seeing Steve and coffee guy still firmly in their seats, pauses, uncertain. Steve tries to smile reassuringly back and waves him away, then turns back to coffee guy.

“Uh,” Steve says after a moment of awkward silence. “Are...are you okay?”

He’s pale, sweating, still shaking ever so slightly.

Coffee guy groans. “I actually have a really high caffeine tolerance,” he tells Steve, voice muffled because he’s still pressed against the desk. “Although I might have overdone it with this one.”

_You think?_ Steve thinks dryly. Recriminations aren’t what this guy needs right now, though, so he kept that thought to himself.

“I’m Steve, by the way,” Steve tells him when no other response is forthcoming.

“Tony,” the guy groans out and seems to curl in on himself more - a surprising feat considering the desk in the way.

“ _Are_ you okay, though?” Steve asks again.

The guy - Tony - turns enough to shoot him a look. "Just peachy," Tony grinds out. "Everything is faaabulous. I _don't_ feel like I’m dying or anything. I _didn't_ drink a double espresso and a Monster. Which was stupid, fine...but no, it wasn't, because I came up with the idea and I’m a genius, so it was a genius concept, just poorly executed, which makes it an attempt and not a failure…" He lifts his head to glare at Steve again. "...and don’t you dare think I’m an idiot."

Steve can’t help but feel vaguely hurt at the accusation buried within the response. _Well, sorry for caring, **idiot**_ , he thinks, pointedly, then shushes himself. Extenuating circumstances, and all that. This guy obviously belonged to the “best defense is a good offense” school of thought.

“I...look. I’ve got a lecture in,” Steve glances down at his watch, “less than half an hour. Are you sure you’re going to be okay?”

“Just perfect,” Tony says, deigning to wave a hand to somehow indicate his abject okay-ness. “I’m just going to lie here and die. You go about your day, kindly stranger.”

“At least give me your number so I can check in with you later,” Steve insists.

“No need, really,” Tony insists, but finally relents. Steve shoots off a quick text so Tony has his number - _“This is Steve, from English section.”_ \- and hesitates. Should he leave now? He’s still got time to stay with Tony and make sure he doesn’t have a heart attack or something all alone, but Tony made it clear he didn’t want company.

Luckily, the decision was made for him. He and Tony both jump a little as the door bursts open and a harassed-looking African American guy walks in.

“ _There_ you are,” the newcomer says. Tony perks up, then slouches back into his seat as the newcomer continues, “You _idiot_. I _told_ you it was a bad idea. Are you actually trying to kill yourself? Don’t answer that,” he adds quickly when Tony opens his mouth. “I really don’t want you to answer that.”

“Rhodey-bear,” Tony says, trying to sound placating. “Light of my life, heart of my soul, or something.”

The guy’s having none of it. “Do _not_ pull that on me, Tony. I didn’t sign up to your babysitter. Hell, I don’t think I even signed up to be your friend. You just one day decided we were a match made in heaven and for some goddawful reason, I went with it.”

“Don’t believe him,” Tony tells Steve, who felt a moment of panic. “He loves me. He just can’t say so because otherwise I’d take more advantage of his good grace, more than I already do.”

James, meanwhile, looks confused and worried, relaxes when he sees that Tony’s talking to a real person and not having a psychotic break, and tenses up again as it dawns on him that a stranger just witnessed the entire thing. He stares at Steve blankly before offering his hand and saying, “James Rhodes. Friend of this idiot over there,” he indicates with his other hand. Tony grins and offers a little wave.

“Steve Rogers,” Steve replied as he shook James’ hand, completely bemused.

“I’m in good hands now,” Tony tells him, getting out of his desk. “Rhodey here’ll make sure I don’t keel over. I’ll even text you later.”

Steve tries to ignore the fluttering in his chest as Tony walks off, James in tow.

**

Later in the evening, his phone chimes with a new text alert. From Tony.

“Still alive, peace.”

Steve sets his phone down and tries to ignore the fluttering in his chest. 


End file.
